


Taken Where You Want To Go

by xaritomene, xrysomou



Category: All American Rejects, Bandom
Genre: Bondage, Fluff, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xrysomou/pseuds/xrysomou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ludicrous that Tyson would mumble it, but he tries to anyway, and he kind of stumbles over his words, lips numb with alcohol as he tries to lower his voice. "Yeah, and I was just thinking. Best sex has been when someone held me down."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken Where You Want To Go

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people mentioned here, and none of the events are true. If you've got here by googling yourself or your famous friends, the back-button is your friend.
> 
> The most explicit thing either of us have ever written - be gentle?
> 
> (Also, the italics at the beginning are deliberate, not a coding error.)

_It's too hot out and Tyson won't sit still. Those are the two things which Nick will remember when he looks back over this sort-of memory. Tyson's not good at sitting still, though, and sometimes Nick just wants to hold him down until he quiets a bit, because _fuck_ it's distracting to have 6"5 of gorgeous best friend jigging up and down beside you._

_But now, Nick's gone on heat and tequila, too warm and drunk to move. Tyson giggles at him as he sprawls out a bit further on the lounger and lets the warm evening sun bake him a bit further. The ground is actually emitting heat and the blacktop would be lethal right now. Nick's just glad he doesn't have to go anywhere._

_"Want another tequila, Nicky baby?" Tyson asks and grins at him. Nick flips him off lazily._

_"You offering to go get some more? Cos the bottle's finished, sweetheart." The sweetheart has a mocking slur, a twist to it, and Tyson grins, sweet and crooked._

_"You want some or not?"_

_"Yeah," Nick drawls out the word, heat and alcohol numbing his muscles. He waves the empty bottle at his friend, who climbs, shakily to his feet, towering at an impossible height over Nick's lounger. Nick blinks at him sleepily. "Th'nks."_

_"No problem."_

_Tyson takes the empty, walks a little unsteadily back inside. Nick lets his arm flop back down on the lounger. In this heat, just breathing is too much._

_When he looks back at it, he thinks he fell asleep at that point, lulled by the evening sunshine and the tequila, because when he opens his eyes again, it's darker. The sun has sunk behind hazy clouds, and Tyson's back on the lounger next to him, sitting up this time. Nick focuses blearily as Tyson stares into the distance with shadowed, deep-set eyes. He yawns, and Tyson looks at him quickly, his expression changing to one Nick recognizes as unease before the cheery grin is back. Hauling himself upright - wincing as the world swims sickly back into place - he pokes Tyson's leg with his big toe._

_"What?" Tyson says absently._

_"Whatcha thinking about?" Nick asks, watching as Tyson tugs his sweat-sticky t-shirt away from his body. Tyson grins sardonically._

_"You gonna ask me about my feelings, Nicky?"_

_"Nope," Nick yawns again, fighting sleep. "Just wonderin'."_

_In the recesses of his mind, Nick feels himself sobering up a little as the air slowly starts to cool. Tyson giggles, and Nick glances at him as he says, "dude, you're hammered."_

_Nick wants to object - of course he's hammered, one and a half bottles of Cuervo between them, and who wouldn't be? The point is, he's not as drunk as he _could_ be - but decides against it, and merely grunts in reply. Tyson giggles again._

_"I am, too."_

_Tyson's twenty, but his tolerance to alcohol is pretty high (Nick will take most of the credit for this, thanks). When he's drunk, he's very drunk._

_"Y'ever gonna tell me what you're thinking?" Nick prods him again, grinning as Tyson gives an irritated huff and shifts away._

_"Nahh...it's stupid."_

_"Ty-son," Nick sing-songs obnoxiously. "Tell me!"_

_"Fine, fine. So I was thinkin'...y'ever..." Tyson's hesitant, and part of Nick recognises that this could be a bad idea. "Sex," Tyson restarts, and Nick blinks. "I think I have a kink."_

_And Nick definitely needs more alcohol for this. But he's sleepy and pretty drunk and Tyson is _trashed_, so he asks anyway. Chances are, one of them won't remember this in the morning, so it's all to the good. "Oh yeah?"_

_"Yeah." Tyson shrugs up at the sky and takes another swing from the new, already half-finished bottle. All pretence of salt and lime has disappeared by this point. "Like. It was back when we were playing that club in, like, fuckin' Washington or somewhere, and I hooked up with that dude with the tattoos?"  
_

_Nick remembers. Nick remembers so well - _the burn of jealousy down the back of his throat, hand twitching at his side before he turns away_ \- that he gestures for the bottle and refuses to say anything until Tyson hands it the fuck over. "Yeah? What about him?" He asks, rasping with the aftertaste of the tequila. Now he knows why they always serve it with lime. "He kink you up, Ty?"_

_Tyson's grin is a bit far away, and Nick does not like that he had sex that good with someone who wasn't Nick. Not that Nick and Tyson are having sex. Nope. They're Nick'n'Ty, inseparable, but 'inseparable' does _not_ mean 'fucking'. Nick knows this too well. "Nah, not really. I mean, not intentionally, y'know? He just, we. Up against a wall." It's ludicrous that Tyson would mumble that, but he tries to anyway, and he kind of stumbles over his words, lips numb with alcohol as he tries to lower his voice. "Yeah, and I was just thinking. Best sex has been when someone held me down."_  


_The picture that gives Nick is too vivid. Tyson, dressed for a show, black jeans and band-t-shirt, pressed up against a wall with that guy behind him, head leant back against the guy's shoulder, long throat exposed, hair curling back against the guy's neck as the guy fucks into him, forceful-slow..._

_Nick clears his throat because that's too powerful an image for him this side of that much tequila. "Ty, I'mna tell you for the good of our relationship, that you overshare."_

_Tyson grins too quickly, eyes flickering away from Nick's face, hands clenching on his bottle, and Nick feels like a dick._

_"Yeah," Tyson says quietly, clearing his throat. "It's stupid. Doesn't matter. S'not like we're going to remember tomorrow, though, right?"_

_His laugh is hollow, unconvincing, and Nick drains the rest of his bottle before clumsily sliding onto Tyson's lounger, hooking arms around Tyson's waist. Behaviour he wouldn't get away with normally is accepted without question when alcohol is involved. Safe in that knowledge, he rests his cheek against Tyson's back, listening to his breathing._

_"Not stupid," he murmurs sleepily, lips moving against the fabric of Tyson's t-shirt. Tyson shivers. "God, so not stupid."_

_Tyson turns abruptly, extricating himself from Nick's grasp."You takin' an interest, Nicky?" he laughs, but it's forced, suspicious, and Nick has to reassure both of them before Tyson gets freaked and Nick ends up jumping the guy. It's difficult. His mind is crowded with images: Tyson up against the wall; flat on his back, arms above his head, body exposed; faint bruises spotting pale wrists - Nick needs more tequila. Nick needs to pass out, fast._

_"Sorry to disappoint," he says, as sardonically as he can while half his brain is stunned with tequila and the other half is reeling with images of Tyson restrained and panting. "But you're drunk and I'm not that kind of girl..."_

_Tyson laughs, low, and Nick can feel it in his cheek. Tyson is way too fucking skinny, he decides, all tiny wrists and perfect skin, and _god_, the idea of bruising that skin, marking it so that Tyson's- _god_. Nick tries not to moan, but it's OK because Tyson's speaking. "Oh, Nick, you're totally that kind of girl."_

_Nick draws back, but leaves his hand on Tyson's back. "Ty, sounds like you'd let me be."_

_Tyson laughs again, sounding suddenly drunker than he is. "Yeah, maybe I would. But you'd have to be really nice to me."_

_"Or tie you up real good and hold you down." Nick means for it to sound like a joke, but his voice is laced with intent, and he's pretty sure he doesn't pull it off. Tyson's breathing hitches and he stands up abruptly._

_"Yeah, I guess that'd work." he agrees, but before Nick can say anything, Tyson's heading back into their crappy little two-up-two-down rent-a-shack and that's pretty much the end of the conversation. Nick flops back against his lounger and wonders whether it's late enough to jerk off where he is without getting arrested for public indecency._

_Despite Tyson's assurances, Nick did remember the following morning. If Tyson did, he didn't say._

_   
_And that, so Nick had thought, was that._   
_

**

They're in the garden next time it comes up, but this is three years down the line and it's their own house this time. Or own houses, really, but they both wanted bigger gardens than they were ever going to get and solved the dilemma by living next to each other and knocking down the fence between the two. It's pretty sweet. Anyway, it's hot again, hot even for Florida, and Nick _really_ just wants Tyson to sit still.

Tyson loves downtime. He loves his own house, he loves his own bed, he loves that he can wake up and actually remember where he is. Yeah, he loves it. For about five minutes. Then he gets bored. And he _fidgets_. Sometimes, the fidgeting can be stopped by writing, but if the words dry, if the lyrics aren't coming, Tyson winds himself up further, frustrated with himself.

Now is just one such time. He's sat down and stood up more times than Nick can count and in the rare moments when he's actually sat down, he's fidgeting like he's on speed or some shit like that, and Nick can't stand it anymore.

"You gonna settle the fuck down?" he asks tiredly, and Tyson gives him this _look_. "Seriously, are you?"

"No." He says, dragging a hand through his hair. "Can't. How is it possible that you're not bored out of your mind, Nicky?"

"Because unlike some people round here, I can occupy myself. You're fucking - you're like the duracell bunny, seriously. What's it going to take to get you to sit down quietly? Can't you read a book or something?" He carefully doesn't mention his first idea, which involved tying Tyson down with something. Hot, but possibly counterproductive.

Tyson's mind unfortunately, seems to be working along all-too-similar lines. "Sex." he says simply, but with a grin.

Nick absolutely does not choke on his beer. Except in the way that he does. He heads straight into a coughing fit, tears streaming down his face; he can practically feel Tyson grinning unrepentantly, smoothing a soothing hand over his back.

"Wrong pipe?" he asks mockingly, and wiping his watering eyes, Nick glares at him.

"Sex, huh?" he says, hoping Tyson doesn't notice the way his voice catches over the word. "Wish I'd known that earlier on."

"Why? Would you have volunteered your services?" Tyson stretches out on his lounger, back arching, and Nick frowns. There's something... off... with Tyson today, and Nick can't figure out what.

"Not me," he says, watching Tyson's face. His eyes are shut, face relaxed in the sunshine, but there's this tension playing around his shoulders. "I'd've had the groupies lined up, waiting to tire you out."

Tyson just grins. "You wouldn't throw me to the groupies." He says, every inch of him imbued with the confidence of years of friendship. "You wouldn't get me back."

"See, you say that like it's a bad thing." Nick grins lazily, and Tyson laughs. His goddamn leg is still jigging up and down, though, and Nick just wants it to _stop_. Without really thinking about it, he reaches out a hand and puts it on Tyson's knee, pushing down to keep his friend still. When he looks up, Tyson's eyes are a little darker than normal, and Nick remembers the conversation of two, maybe three years ago, the one he hadn't been able to get out of his mind ever since.

"'Kay, I got your point, Nicky." Tyson stands again, but his foot's tapping the moment Nick's no longer touching him. "I'll leave you to your beer. I got barbecue ribs later, you want to come over for 'em?"

"Ty..." Nick trails off. He doesn't know how to start this conversation.

"Yeah?" Tyson's halfway round the side of the house when he stops, looking back. He's barefoot, in shorts and a t-shirt. All modest and proper, but nevertheless Nick swallows like Tyson's naked in front of him. He wishes he hadn't spoken; he has no fucking idea how to bring this up without destroying ten years of friendship. The silence stretches between them, and Nick can almost hear the tension crackling. Tyson's fidgeting again, shifting from one foot to the other. "Yeah?" he says again, voice hitching a little, and Nick's mind throws him straight back to that conversation. He takes a slow, steady breath as the tension in the air ratchets up a notch. Suddenly, Tyson laughs, and ducks out of sight, round the side of the house.

"See you later - bring your own beer," he calls back, and once again there's that off tone. Something's wrong, and Nick's up off the lounger and sprinting round the side of the house, grabbing Tyson's arms.

"Dude, what the -" Tyson stops short as Nick's momentum spins them sideways against the house, until Nick's virtually pinning him to the wall. Gasping a little, Nick looks up at Tyson, who has suddenly gone very still.

"Hey, Ty," he says, hoarsely, feeling his heart hammering uncomfortably against his ribs. This could all go so wrong. "I'm - " He doesn't know how to say it, can't put it into words. Instead, he tightens his grip on Tyson's arms, hears Tyson's slow, shaky exhale.

"Nick, what're you...?" Tyson asks, and it's easy to forget that behind all the bravado and attention-seeking is the kid who dragged himself to New York for his best friend's dream and only found out later that it was his own too. Right now, he sounds every inch that kid, even though he outgrew him years ago.

"I wanna hold you down." Nick says, more sighing than speaking.

"Look, I get it, I fidget too much." Tyson doesn't quite struggle, but he does move as if he's going to leave. Nick tightens his hands on his friend's arm, holds him in place with greater force, and pretends not to shiver as Tyson's eyes go dark.

"No." He says quietly. "It's not about your fidgeting. At least, it's only partly about your fidgeting." He risks a smile but he's pretty sure it didn't really work. "I wanna hold you down, make you- Fuck, Ty." He meets Tyson's eyes, and that's not quite all it takes, but from the way Tyson's eyes darken even further, Nick'd say he got at the very least the general gist of it. The fact that he's still quiet and still under Nick's hands gives him the confidence to go on. "I want to tie you down and make you take it, OK? I want to bruise you, Ty, fuck."

He leans his forehead against Tyson's shoulder, and one of Tyson's hands comes up, resting on his side, because he can only move his arms from the elbow; Nick's holding him against the wall elsewise. "Nicky, if you think that hasn't been every jerk-off fantasy of mine since I was nineteen, you're really fucking slow."

Nick smiles shakily into Tyson's shirt, relief so palpable it's almost embarrassing. Still, it's nice to know that he won't have to run very fast when he eventually lets Tyson go. As it is, he swallows, and slides his hands down Tyson's arms, curls his fingers tighter around his wrists. Tyson hisses; Nick's grip must be on the edge of painful. Tyson's breathing catches, and he flexes his arms a little, testing, shuddering as Nick leans forward fractionally, the extra weight cutting off Tyson's movement. Nick just concentrates on not coming in his own pants; they haven't even _done_ anything, and Tyson would never let him live it down.

"Nick, Nick," Tyson sing-songs his name, shifting restlessly under him. "We gonna stay here all night? 'Cause I'm not complainin' about the view, but -"

"I want you on your knees," Nick blurts out in one breath, listening to Tyson' sharp intake of breath. "Right here."

Tyson breathes in unsteadily. "Don't start something you're not gonna finish, Nick," he mutters, pulling against Nick's hands, and then moans quietly as Nick rocks against him, hard against his thigh.

"I'll finish it," Nick assures him, voice steadier than it should be. Nick's heart is still pounding fast, a mix of nerves and want making him light-headed, because face it, he has _no idea_ what he's supposed to do with this situation.

Tyson searches his face for a long moment, unsure, then grins, that crooked, shit-eating grin Nick's been in love with for so long. "What do you want me to do, when you've got me down there?"

Nick glances around, checks they're out of sight. "C'mon, Ty." He says with a grin of his own. "Use that imagination of yours."

"OK, so say I suck your cock for you," Tyson says, lazy, "which is only a possibility, gotta tell you. What do I get out of it?" He pauses. "And if I decide I'd rather not suck you off today, thanks for offering, what happens then?" This is straying uncomfortably close to role-playing that Nick's not happy with and he almost says so. He won't ever, ever hurt Tyson, not even if that's what Tyson needs to get off.

"You don't want to suck me off, you don't have to, Ty." he says quietly. "But you _do_ want to, or you'd have decked me by now. I _know_ you."

Tyson's grin grows, the little fucker. "Yeah, well. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, and you weren't going to be doing the decking. I'm into a fairly narrow margin of kink, Nicky baby, and you need to know that."

"Oh, I know exactly what you're into." Nick grins back, tightening his grip on Tyson's wrists and watching Tyson's eyes glaze a little.

"You're sure yourself today," Tyson taunts, breathing a little ragged.

"Yeah," Nick agrees, "I am. So can we get on with this, or shall I leave you to climb out of your own skin for the rest of the day?" He loosens his hold on Tyson's wrists, grinning as Tyson whines a little in the back of his throat. "No?" He asks innocently, and reapplies the pressure until he feels the bones creak under his fingers. Tyson groans, low and raw, head thudding back against the wall of the house.

"Ok, _ok_, you smug fuck," he says, staring at Nick with glazed eyes. "How d'you want me?" It's said with a flirtatious grin and a sideways look, one that Nick's seen directed at other people, but never at him. He's uncomfortable. As much as he's wanted this to happen - God, so long - he can't help but feel that this is a bit fast. Still. No going back now.

"Like I said," he hears his own voice, hoarse with arousal. "On your knees."

Tyson meets his eyes with a crooked smile. "You gonna let me up?"

Nick grins, and releases Tyson's arms, watching as his friend shrugs off the wall, and slides in one, graceful movement to his knees. Nick takes a moment to think about cars and riffs and carpets; anything to take his mind off Tyson on his knees in front of him, and so ensure he doesn't embarrass himself completely. He feels a bit like one of Tyson's one night stands, but he's not going to say so, not when he's getting exactly what he wanted, not with Tyson on his knees in front of him, undoing his jeans with clever practised fingers. "You're- a bit too-" he manages, before Tyson wraps his hand around Nick's cock, his fingers slightly callused from playing bass, and by the time Nick's got used to that sensation, Tyson's licking his lips and sucking almost experimentally on the head. Nick lets his hands fall to Tyson's head, his fingers digging in through Tyson's hair.

Tyson's good at this. (Too good, a treacherous little voice in his head says, but he can ignore it so easily. Till now, Tyson's sexual partners were his own business.) He sucks hot and fast, his tongue working at the underside. The angle leaves little room for anything creative, but no one ever said cocksucking had to be creative; the surge of tighthotwetgood is pretty much all Nick needs. He digs his fingers into Tyson's hair a little harder, pretending that the little moan Tyson can't quite suppress didn't feel like the best thing ever, and lets his hips jerk once, twice. Chances are Tyson can take it and if he can't, he'll relish that edge of pain. Nick knows this almost too well, the knowledge sitting heavy at the back of his mind. How far would Tyson let him go?

He doesn't register that he's actually digging blunt nails into the thin skin at the back of Tyson's head, but it's Tyson's long, low broken moan which carries him over the edge, too fast for him to get out a warning. It doesn't seem to matter; Tyson swallows what he can and licks up what spills out.

It's pretty much the hottest thing Nick's ever seen. He lets his head fall forward bonelessly for a couple of seconds, then he gently tucks himself away again and gives himself another couple of seconds. Tyson's still on his knees in front of him, a little of Nick's come at the corner of his mouth, and Nick allows himself to stare for yet another moment before yanking Tyson up and pushing him against the wall with as much force as he can manage.

He grins into Tyson's surprised face. "Your turn."

"Nick –" Tyson begins, but then Nick shoves his hand down the front of Tyson's jeans, and he gives up speaking in favour of a long, ragged moan. "Shit, I –" He tails off, panting, and this whole situation is beyond Nick's wildest dreams, and Nick really isn't sure that's something to be proud of. The angle's not good, there's not much room to manoeuvre, but he tightens his fist around Tyson's cock, and works it in slow, hard strokes that have Tyson's hips coming off the wall. "Nick. Nick, you fucker, come _on_-" Nick smoothes his palm over the head of his cock, wrist twisting awkwardly, and Tyson's hips buck forward. Barely thinking about it, Nick slides his other hand down to Tyson's hip, holding him against the wall, unable to move. The hand inside Tyson's jeans speeds up, and Tyson groans, loudly.

"Dude," Nick murmurs into his ear, "we're about ten feet away from the neighbours. You wanna keep it down?"

Tyson swallows convulsively, eyes flying open, and Nick grins. Trust Tyson to be an exhibitionist. He leans forward to mutter in Tyson's ear, hand on his cock working faster, twisting on the upstroke to slide a thumb under the head.

"Gotta keep quiet, Ty, don't think the neighbours would be happy if they caught me jerkin' you off in the backyard. Get any louder, and they might come see what's going on. You really want Mrs. Kratovac to see you strung out like this?" Tyson sobs a little, hips shifting futilely under Nick's grip. "Fuck, you _do_! You wanna get caught! Fuckin' _hell_, Tyson!" Nick swipes his thumb against the underside of Tyson's cock, and Tyson's clenching his teeth and coming over his fingers. He yanks his hand out of Tyson's pants whilst he's still panting and wipes it on Tyson's jeans. He's probably due a laundry anyway. "Any other kinks you wanna share whilst we're at it, baby?" he asks, and Tyson swallows as Nick leans his full weight against him. "Exhibitionism, being held down..."

"I'm not gonna make you dress up in leather and beat me if that's what you're asking, Nicky." Tyson manages. Trust him to turn it into a joke. "I think you've got everything by now."

"So a coupla bruises here and there are your kind of thing, huh?" Nick leans into him a little harder, keeping him pressed up against the rough brick of the wall. "If I were to tie you up and fuck you, what would you say, hmm?" he zips up Tyson's jeans, because he doubts Ty's going to get the necessary coordination back any time soon. Tyson just gapes at him, and Nick laughs. "OK, sorry. C'mon, let's get you inside."

"What's inside got that here hasn't?" Tyson manages.

"Beds?" Nick replies with a grin, and Tyson huffs a laugh. Nick moves away, but before he can get anywhere, Tyson grabs his hand.

"Hey, Nick, this- this isn't just about sex, right?" Nick shakes his head at the question.

"Jeez, Ty, ten years and you still gotta ask that?" He leans back in, hip bones sharp against Tyson's, holding him in place as one hand comes back up to cup (grip) Tyson's head, the other soft and gentle at his jaw. "Baby, like it was ever going to be." He kisses him before Tyson can get him to say anything soppier with that wide-eyed-and-worried look of his. It's not exactly a sweet kiss, not the tender kind he's used to with the various girls he's been with. Tyson's more than that. He might like being held down but that doesn't mean Nick's leading him anywhere; he kisses back just as strongly as Nick ever imagined he would and it's kind of perfect. When Nick pulls back, he smiles at Tyson stupidly. "Answer your question?"

He's not quite sure of this whole thing himself yet; unsure of where they stand now; love, friendship, a _band_ together, for fuck's sake, he's not sure where factoring in sex is going to lead them. But it'll be worth it, he knows that for damn sure.

**

Over the next couple of years, he gets comfortable with it, knows where they're going. And it's not always about holding Tyson down; after they won the VMA, after the after-party was done, the sex then wasn't about bruises or violence or anything; it was a celebration, they were too keyed up and joyful to care about whatever foreplay was involved in Nick holding Tyson down into it.

It's not always what Tyson needs and it's not always what Nick wants, and they know each other so well now that those times often coincide. If they don't, they'll make concessions for each other.

But sometimes, it really, really is what it's all about. And Tyson's right; sex with that factored in is some of the hottest Nick's ever had. (It helps that Tyson's involved in that equation.)

And Nick's got quite good at reading the signs. It can be a sideways glance, or Tyson fidgeting, or simply being so bitchy that Chris gets fed up and tells Nick to 'screw the bad temper out of him, goddammit' (Nick has never fully recovered from this incident).

It works; it's fun, it's harmless, and if Nick gets as much of a kick out of it as Tyson does, then that's fine. Even when Nick has to push Tyson's boundaries a bit.

Nick is tired. Nick is tired of touring, Nick is tired of ever-changing locations and Nick is tired of having a bedroom with wheels. If he's honest, all he really wants to do is skip the last two concerts and head home to Florida, where he can sit in his garden, walk his dog and forget the rest of the world exists for a couple of weeks before they start all over again. But they've got three concerts to go before that happens and countless interviews and events, and it's taking Nick real effort to be civil to those around him. He manages it. Barely. Tyson's faring no better. He's got to be alive and enthusiastic at all times no matter where they are or how he's feeling. At this stage of the tour, he's exhausted, tetchy and running on adrenaline.

Nick kind of hates Tyson when he's like this. He hates how false he sounds on camera (no one else can hear it, but Nick knows how much it's taking out of him to be cheerful and over-exuberant, and Tyson can't sell it to Nick), hates how he switches off when it's just them, hates how he's all about the band and not at all about _them_. It's selfish of Nick to think like that, but it's not reason which makes him feel it, and unreasonableness tends to kick in at this stage of the tour.

If Nick didn't know Tyson hates this more than he does, he'd give up completely. And Tyson tends to take out his frustration through sex; at least, that's his least self-destructive habit, so Nick likes to encourage it. But now, Tyson hasn't asked, Tyson probably isn't going to ask. Nick just wants him to sit down and shut the hell up.

Tonight should be a good night. It's a hotel night, for a start, which means a shower you don't have to lose weight to fit inside and a bed that doesn't rumble and in which Nick can sprawl out next to Tyson. But they've just done an interview, a whole slew of interviews, in fact, and their show is tomorrow, so Tyson's all keyed up with nowhere to go.

He's not going to ask, Nick can tell, which means it's one of the nights when Nick has to do it for him.

They're in New Orleans, and the fact that they all turn down the party going on down at some executive producer of something-or-other's house should clue everyone in as to just how tired they are. Tyson's out on the balcony 'to cool down'. Nick wants to point out that as it's 85 outside and unpleasantly humid, any chances of Tyson cooling down are pretty remote. But he doesn't. Instead, after an hour of waiting for Tyson to come inside, Nick opens the sliding door, and joins him.

"You plannin' on talking to me at all, or are you going to brood all night, instead?" The words sound harsh, but Nick cards a hand through Tyson's hair. Up close, Tyson looks even more tired.

"Not in the mood, Nick," he answers softly, staring out at the city beyond the balcony. Nick rubs a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling the tense muscles, and the individual bones of Tyson's spine.

"C'mon," he says, taking Tyson's wrist. "You know what's indoors?"

"Unless it's a year's supply of Valium, I don't care."

"Air conditioning!" Nick says mock-seriously. "But not just any air-conditioning - air conditioning that actually _works_."

Tyson grins at him lopsidedly, allowing himself to be towed inside the sliding doors. "No, really? Well, I never."

"I know. Doesn't even leak, either."

"Wow. We must be going up in the world," Tyson flops backward onto the bed, limbs sprawling everywhere. "How long have we been on the road this time, Nick?"

Nick answers without even thinking. "Three months, five days."

"Oh, God, I want to go home," Tyson mutters, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. "So much. You have no idea."

It's easy for Nick to forget how goddamn young Tyson is, sometimes. None of them are exactly old, but Tyson's the baby of the group by a fair margin, for all he hides it behind relentless energy and a dollop of insanity. It makes him a little uncomfortable to remember it, though, so he shakes off the thought and slides towards Tyson across his bed.

"Hey," he says, poking Tyson in the side. "Three gigs. A week. Then it'll be done."

"If I accidentally stab myself with a fork, it'll be over faster."

"Death by fork. Kinda ignominious, don'tcha think?" Nick eyes the clock. For once, they don't have to be anywhere, and he's not one to waste an opportunity. "Besides, I can think of better ways to die."

Tyson rolls onto his side, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Nick's on him in a second, yanking off his jeans, and throwing them into a corner before grabbing the hem of Tyson's t-shirt and pulling it upwards. Tyson, evidently deciding to be as difficult as possible, merely raises an eyebrow.

"What're you doing?"

"Dancing," Nick deadpans. "Now lift your arms."

Slowly, Tyson does, arching a little to slide the shirt over his head. He angles his arms to allow Nick to remove the t-shirt completely, but Nick pauses, looking down at him thoughtfully, as a vivid image flashes through his mind. They've never done this before. So far, Nick's stuck to the boundaries Tyson has defined, not really daring to go further than that, and normally that's fine. At the moment, though, it might not be enough. Maybe Tyson needs something different.

Nick slides one leg over Tyson's hips, straddling him, and Tyson obediently extends his arms further. Instead of taking the shirt off though, Nick tangles it around his forearms. Tyson can't move his arms.

"Nick?" Tyson asks, flexing his arms experimentally as Nick slides down until he's cradled in Tyson's hips. The T-shirt holds.

"Thought you might want to try something different, baby." Nick grins, and leans down to press a kiss to Tyson's neck. "Think maybe it's what we both need right now."

"Tour getting you down?" Tyson asks, arching up a little against Nick. Nick kind of likes the power contrast of being fully clothed whilst Tyson's naked - naked except for the T-shirt wrapped around his forearms, at least. He takes a moment to savour it before shucking out of his own clothes, and reaching for the lube in his bag.

"I'd say you have no idea if I didn't know exactly how much idea you had."

Tyson offers him a smile, forcing himself up so he could press a kiss against Nick's shoulder. He was probably aiming for the mouth, Nick realises, but the angle was awkward, what with not being able to use his arms and having very little motor control like this. Nick grins, pushing one of Tyson's legs up for ease of access and leaning down to oblige him, kissing him firmly, licking into his mouth with intent. Tyson moans into the kiss and Nick realises that the hand which has been cupping the back of Tyson's knee is gripping tightly. When he pulls his hand away, there's a red mark there. It won't bruise, but it's a reminder of what Tyson wants and needs right now. And what Nick wants, he won't lie about that.

"S'alright, baby, you'll get it." He promises, and slicks up one finger, circling Tyson's hole and watching his face.

"Any time you wanna stop teasing," Tyson says, best bitchface in place, but his face slackens as Nick abruptly pushes in two fingers.

"Too tired to tease," Nick grins, scissoring his fingers, and watching as Tyson's eyes flutter shut. It's not gentle, but Tyson doesn't need gentle right now. If he wanted gentle, he'd ask for it, but the way he jerks his hips tells Nick that the last thing he wants is slow and sweet right now. Nick grips one hand round Tyson's too-skinny hip and holds him down, delighting in the way Tyson bites his lip against a groan. Things have been mad the last few weeks, spiralling out of control the way they always do towards the end of a tour, and Nick loves that Tyson allows him this space to regain control. It's a sexual high he hadn't even known he wanted to achieve before Tyson introduced him to it, and if he didn't already love Tyson to distraction sometimes, that might have pushed him over the edge. The fact that Tyson wants it so badly, needs it, is delicious.

He's reminded of where he is and what the hell he's doing by Tyson arching up against him, the leg Nick pushed out of the way sliding down again. "Thought - you were too tired to tease," he grits out. Nick grins, shoving his leg up again.

"Got lost in you for a second there, baby." he teases gently, and Tyson manages a grin before Nick scissors his fingers again and words are evidently a higher brain function sacrificed in the interests of sex.

"Nick, Nick, Nicky..." Tyson chants for a moment, one arm moving futilely in an attempt to touch him. Nick gives in this time, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, moving back before Tyson can gain any kind of purchase on him, thrusting his fingers in-out fast, before adding another and shoving back in. Tyson masks his gasp with a moan. "S'enough - s'enough, Nick, please..."

"Ty, it's enough when I say it's enough, OK?" Nick tells him. "I won't hurt you like that, you know I-"

"Wouldn't hurt." Tyson promises, and Nick sighs.

"Baby-"

"It won't hurt, Nicky!"

"Ty..."

"For fuck's sake, _now_." Tyson grits out and Nick pauses as Tyson writhes against him, one long, lithe temptation. Turns out, Nick's will power really isn't that strong, and he slicks his cock up before sliding into Tyson, easy-slow, relishing in the resistance and Tyson's long-drawn-out sigh, the way his eyes shut instinctively with pleasure.

Nick will never get over fucking Tyson, how good it feels, how he's actually allowed to do this, to hold Tyson down until he bruises and fuck him till he moans, blissed out. Tyson's desperate right now, wound up after weeks of touring, and though they've fucked before, it's been with Chris and Mike in the front lounge and only minutes to spare rather than a whole night. Right now, Nick's got as long as he can last to fuck Tyson, to make him scream.

He knows when he's got the right angle when Tyson arches up with a strangled whine, eyes squeezing even more tightly shut, panting as the sound dies away. There's nothing remotely attractive about Tyson's face at the moment – all the pouts and careful poses burnt away by desire – but Nick thinks he's beautiful right now. In retaliation, he squeezes Ty's hips more tightly and watches him bite his lip against the sob choked in his throat.

Suddenly, Nick wants to hear the noises (he always wants to hear them, but most of the time he doesn't have the luxury. Here, it doesn't matter if Tyson's screaming for him), and he sets about distracting Tyson from keeping quiet, leaning down to mouth at his throat, thrusting carefully and relishing in the way Tyson arches up against him despite Nick's hands holding him down, fitting their bodies flush against each other. Tyson chokes out a long, broken groan as Nick takes one hand off his hip to jerk at his cock, rough and fast.

Tyson wraps one leg up around Nick's hips, pulling him in deeper, tighter to him, and Nick smiles as he kisses him, sloppy. "God, I love you," he manages, high on sex and Tyson, but Tyson's too busy coming to respond, tightening his leg round Nick's hips and moaning low in his throat as Nick's hand tightens impossibly on his hip. No way he doesn't have bruises there tomorrow, and he's going to fucking relish them.

Later, when it's over and they're cleaned up, lethargic and satisfied, with Nick wrapped around Tyson like some bizarre limpet, Tyson turns to him with a grin.  
"We're fucking good together, Nicky, y'know that, right?"

**

When Tyson comes out of the bus wearing the suit and the skinny tie, Nick pretty much swallows his tongue. He already knows how he wants the night to end, but the T-shirt incident aside, that's further than they've ever been and Tyson, Nick knows, prefers the way it feels when it's Nick's hands holding him down, Nick keeping him in place physically, himself.

But Nick also knows that Tyson is willing to take things further than before and that their sex could do with some spicing up now and again, some other options being brought into play every so often.

Tyson catches the look Nick gives him and cocks his hips. "Come and get me, baby." He grins, and Nick winces.

"Dude, no." He says simply, and wonders miserably to himself at what point he became that transparent.

"What, you mean this look doesn't turn you on?" Tyson looks faintly downcast. "Well, baby, what's going to do it for you? I mean, short of going naked-"

"No!" Is Chris' contribution.

"You could do the dance of the seven veils?" Mike suggests brightly.

"Oh, for god's sake, _no_!" Chris repeats with fervour. Nick has to agree. Some things he likes to keep to himself, and Tyson with scarves is one of them.

Nick swallows firmly and shakes his head. "I like the look just fine." He says with a Look, and Tyson grins, draping himself over Nick, whose shoulders protest at the unexpected extra weight.

"How much more will you like it when the tie's around my wrists?" He breathes in Nick's ear.

Nick closes his eyes and counts to thirty. "We have a show," he protests weakly. "Please don't do this now." Tyson gives a delighted little snigger and shimmies away, leaving Nick with the hard-on to end all hard-ons. "Fuck off." He tells it futilely and grabs his guitar.

**

Tyson, not unsurprisingly, spends the entire show teasing Nick mercilessly. At one point the bastard even holds his wrists out to the audience shouting, "so, who wants to tie me up, then?!" Predictably the crowd goes wild, but Tyson glances at Nick and grins. "Ding ding ding, ladies and gentlemen, we have a volunteer! How about it, baby, you up for tying me down?"

Nick forces himself to grin and shake his head, playing it down for the crowd, but when Tyson comes near enough he whispers in his ear, "fuck off, Tyson, fuck _right_ off, I am _not_ playing this show with a boner."

Tyson licks his ear by way of reply, because Tyson is about as subtle as a brick. "Oh baby, y'already are." He slips his hand down between Nick and the guitar and the solo gains an entirely new chord.

"You are going to regret this when the show's over. So much, oh my god."

Tyson grins at him and presses a kiss to his neck, intimate. "I'm counting on it, sweetheart. Now smile and wave, baby. Smile and- _tonight, I'm weak – it's just another day without you, and I can't sleep_-"

He's launched himself away from Nick and is now screaming down at the pretty girls on the other side of the stage. Nick thinks up punishment after punishment for both the implied infidelity and the sheer tease. Tyson is nothing if not a giant cock-tease. Nick knows this. Nick has first-hand and painful experience of this.

And Tyson is going to pay.

During one of the breaks between songs, Nick gets a little payback, doing something he has never done before. His guitar tech is off changing guitar for him, and he is left on stage, momentarily just standing there like a lemon before the spark of an evil plan implants itself in his mind. He wanders over to Tyson, and slides his left arm around his neck whilst Tyson banters with the audience, talking shit as normal, plastering against Tyson's back and taking absolute delight in the way that Tyson's voice hitches a little. He makes sure that every eye in the house is on his left arm as he slides his right hand down the back of Tyson's jeans. Tyson jerks, shocked, and Nick feels a kind of evil glee.

"And that's when Nick came in his pants. Right when he saw those War-Hammer models." Tyson twists round to look Nick in the eye, in a way which has to be uncomfortable. Beating Tyson at his own game has never been easy, so Nick just squeezes his hand, and backs off with a quick, unnoticeable kiss pressed to the back of Tyson's neck. This thing they have right now might be about scoring points, but normally they're not, and the kiss is a way of reminding Tyson of that.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Chris look to the heavens.

True to the silent plea in the kiss, Tyson backs off for the rest of the concert, keeping his comments simply risqué rather than blatantly obvious. But Nick is still worked up and seething by the time the concert ends and he has Tyson slammed against a wall almost before he's got his guitar off.

"What the fuck was that out there?" Nick demands, hands fisted in Tyson's lapels.

"Aw, baby, don't you like a bit of foreplay?"

"Not in front of a thousand strangers! A thousand strangers with internet connection and access to YouTube!"

"Hey, Nicky, I'm not the one with my hands down your pants-"

"Oh, that serves you right and you know it."

"Yeah, but of the two of us, I'd say you were riskier out there."

"I was provoked." Nick grits out.

"That's my job, baby!" Tyson grins back. "Provoking the innocent-"

"I am not innocent-"

"Not since I got hold of you-"

"Innocent, huh?" Nick grabs Tyson's ridiculous skinny tie and yanks him towards the hotel, glancing back to make sure he's not choking the bastard.

"Dude, dude, what the- it was just a joke, OK!?"

Nick doesn't let up, grinning insouciantly at the receptionist as he drags his lanky lead singer past the desk and into the lift. "Dude. Shut the fuck up."

Tyson swallows as Nick shoves him against the wall, the hand-rail digging into his hips. "I, er. OK?"

"Oh, thank fuck, finally." Nick scrabbles embarrassingly with the key-card into the room, but thankfully Tyson seems to have taken the 'shut the fuck up' order to heart and says nothing until Nick all but shoves him into the room and throws him on the bed. It's damn lucky Tyson lets Nick do this because his sheer height would have made it easy for him resist – but they're both in this as far the other.

Nick glares down at him for a long, silent moment, and Tyson meets his eyes squarely, but there's something hot in the blue of his gaze. Nick reaches down and yanks off his tie.

"You just had to play the whole show with this on, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah," Tyson smirks, "I'm not stupid. I know what I want, Nicky."

"And what's that?"

"I want you to tie me up." Nick wraps the rough material of the tie around his knuckles, and watches Tyson's eyes follow it. "I want you to leave bruises." Tyson swallows as Nick flicks the end of the tie between finger and thumb.

"OK, lie back and think of – um, America. That doesn't work so well." Nick curses inside his head – being smooth is a lot easier when he's drunk. Tyson doesn't seem to mind, sitting up on the bed, and catching Nick's face between his hands.

"You OK with this?" he asks, pulling Nick's head down until their foreheads are resting together.

"Am _I_ OK with this? Dude, you're the one who's going to be tied to the bed, you need to tell me _now_ if you want this to stop."

Tyson's expression is surprisingly soft when he pulls back. "You'd stop if I asked you." Nick shrugs – that's pretty much a given. "Nick, I'm the one who asked for this."

"Damn right you are."

"So, tie me up, bitch!"

"Wait, _I'm_ the bitch? Please." Nick grins.

"Shut up." Tyson throws himself backwards on the bed, stretching his arms up above his head in one lithe, graceful movement and then wincing as his wrists thwack painfully against the headboard. "OK, so that didn't work so well." He shimmies gracelessly back down the bed, and it really shouldn't be attractive, but Nick's tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth all the same, especially when Tyson's movements pull his shirt out of his trousers, exposing one sharp hip-bone.

Nick clambers onto the bed with even less grace than Tyson, settling himself over Tyson's hips and looking down at him for a moment.

"See something you like?" Tyson asks with a grin, and Nick nods wordlessly, reaching for Tyson's wrists. He wraps the tie around them in a loose figure of eight, and Tyson shakes his head. "Tighter." Nick pulls a little, and Tyson manoeuvres himself upright, somehow. "Nick, I really wasn't kidding when I said I wanted bruises."

Nick's doubtful. "Not too tight, baby." When Tyson shakes his head, Nick persists. "What if you freak out and I can't get you loose?"

"How about that pocket knife of yours?"

"Oh, you mean the key ring thing I had back in Junior year? Yeah, I haven't carried that around _since_ Junior year, Ty."

"Nick." Tyson's voice is very serious. "What indication have I ever given you that I would freak out?"

"Ty." Nick shakes his head. "I don't know enough about this - _neither_ of us know enough about this to be sure that something won't go wrong."

"You've researched this?" Tyson grins up at him, and Nick nods, wordless. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to let you do anything to me I'm not OK with. You know me."

"I know you, and I _love_ you. I'm not going to risk hurting you."

"Which is why I want _you_ to do this, jesus, Nicky." Tyson shakes his head, lying back on the bed like a supine invitation to sin. "C'mon."

Nick unravels the tie from around Tyson's wrists, despite his protestations, and shakes his head when Tyson starts to whine. "How about we get your jacket off first, genius. And your pants."

"And my socks! I am not having sex wearing only my socks – I am _not_ that dude!"

"We haven't got your shoes off yet," Nick points out, amused. "And I'm not taking those things off – you tied the knots."

Tyson sighs long-sufferingly. "Fine, fine. What is the point of a sex slave who won't even take your shoes off for you?" He leans down and untangles the knots of his converse with long, dextrous fingers. Nick takes a moment to admire it before grinning up at Tyson.

"Funny, I thought my job description was 'guitarist'."

"Exactly. Sex-slave." Tyson's answering grin is insouciant in the extreme.

"Oh, fuck you, you are clearly _my_ sex-slave." Nick grins, and shoves him back down onto the bed, loving the way Tyson's eyes go dark at the forcefulness.

"This is better. I like this." Tyson nods regally. He would never admit that his voice goes breathy. Nick yanks Tyson's pants off, followed by his own. But when Tyson's hands go to the buttons on his shirt, Nick shakes his head.

"Nah, leave it on." He drawls, and grabs Tyson's hands as he straddles him again, pressing two quick kisses to the knuckles on each of them, before pushing them back above his head and looping the tie around them and pulling it so tight the material goes thin. Tyson's breath is catching in his throat, his eyes hot on Nick's face, and Nick can feel his cock hard against his thigh.

Tyson whines high in his throat as Nick pulls the tie tight around the bars of the headboard and knots it, cursing as his fingers fumble the knot. Tyson chuckles a little, and Nick thwacks him on the shoulder. "Eh, I'm trying my best and you're high maintenance."

He can't get a finger between Tyson's wrists and the tie – it's digging in and the skin is already white under the make-shift restraint. He pulls a face, and Tyson shakes his head, biting his lip.

"Nick, don't-"

"Shut up." Nick tells him roughly, leaning down for a kiss which is more a bite than anything else.

When he pulls back, Tyson's lips are bitten-red, and his breathing is heavier. Nick could get used to this – he takes a moment to drink it in. Most of the time he can't believe his luck, because Tyson is _Tyson Ritter_, and even though Tyson Ritter is a guy Nick Wheeler grew up with, saw through all the awkward stages of adolescence, he's also the model and the lead singer, and every time he goes on a shoot, Nick's reminded that this guy is both fucking gorgeous and way out of his league.

"You're doing that thing again." Tyson shakes his head, his eyes soft.

"What, sorry?"

"You're out of my league, Nicky, and this is not the moment for a big psychological discussion, so either you fuck me, or you untie me. Your choice." He emphasises this by stretching out into one long tease, grinding against Nick's thigh.

Nick makes a pretty split-second decision. "Like it was ever a choice."

He reaches for the lube Tyson so presumptuously placed on the night-stand, and slicks one finger up before sliding down into a more comfortable position. He doesn't even have to tell Tyson to move his legs anymore – he just moves them. "You think we've been doing this for too long?" He asks, noting the way Tyson automatically arranges himself into the easiest, most comfortable position.

"Why, you getting bored of me?"

Nick presses a kiss to one bent knee. "Yeah, as if."

Tyson smiles and tugs against the restraints, arching himself up against them, towards Nick. "C'mon, you gonna get round to fucking me this week any time?"

"Patience." Nick sings out, one finger sliding into Tyson. Tyson's moan is long and unabashed, broken by the way Nick thrusts in and out. "God, you love this don't you?"

"Oh, yeah." Tyson breathes. "And you know it, so stop teasing."

"Mmm... don't wanna." Nick grins, leaning down to kiss a line down Tyson's chest as his finger thrusts in-and-out again, accustoming Tyson to the feeling of it although he's more than used to it by now.

"Fucker." Tyson says fondly. "You wanna touch me."

Nick breaks off the kissing to shake his head at him. "What have I said about quoting yourself in bed?" He drops his head onto Tyson's shoulder as he laughs. "Not sexy, Ty."

"Success is always sexy." Tyson disagrees, and Nick uses his free hand to pinch at Tyson's nipple. Anyone else, that would jerk them out of the mood, but with Tyson that just pulls him further under. Nick loves that about him – among many other things.

One finger becomes two, and Tyson is unabashedly writhing, trying to fuck himself on Nick's fingers without much success as the (too-tight) restraints keep him in place. Nick loves it. He's worried about the white of Tyson's wrists, worried about the bruising that will undoubtedly come when the tie comes off, but he loves the way Tyson loves it.

Tyson's all but mindless with pleasure at this point, hips jerking futilely against Nick's, and he whispers over and over, "Nick, Nick, Nick..."

Nick isn't going to deny that the way Tyson clearly just wants _him_ is a real turn-on. Whoever it was that said people just want to be wanted was clearly right, because Tyson's want is fucking hot. He certainly won't be stringing this out much longer. He knows what Tyson can take, what Tyson wants, and that's clearly Nick, right now.

Nick wants Tyson. Nick has wanted Tyson since they were stupid kids together, back in Oklahoma when it was still illegal to want your male high-school friend like that.

He adds a third finger, ignoring Tyson's almost silent pleas for him to 'just get on with it, fucking hell, fuck me, please, oh God, please please please', until those pleas become a long, strung-out whine.

"Shut the fuck up, Ty," he says roughly, his voice rasping over the words, "you'll wake the neighbours."

Tyson isn't coherent enough to come up with a response, and Nick's hands are shaking as he slicks his cock up. He slides into Tyson and shuts his eyes for a long moment, savouring the feeling because being inside Tyson is still one of the best feelings he knows. Before he knows it, his hands have come up to cup Tyson's face, his hands gentle against Tyson's jaw, and he leans his head down against his shoulder. "Fuck, I love you," he whispers, embarrassed to be voicing the sentiment _now_, of all times, even though there's no way Tyson doesn't know it already. He takes away Tyson's ability to reply – doubtless with some flippant comment – by pulling out and thrusting back in as hard as he can.

Tyson sobs, throwing his head back and yanking at the restraints. Nick grabs his shoulder and pushes him back forcefully, his grip turning the skin white. "Don't you do that, Tyson. Don't." He orders, and Tyson shakes his head, mindless.

"Let me go, Nick, c'mon, let me go, wanna touch you, wanna feel you-"

Nick cards his fingers through Tyson's hair, knotted from the show, rubbing against the delicate skin above his ear. "You're doing so well, baby," he breathes, hips jerking of their own accord, and he takes pleasure in the way Tyson moans, "just a little longer."

"Can't, Nicky, can't, I can't, please, just-"

"For me, Ty." It's a low blow. Tyson will do anything for Nick, and Nick knows it. To make up for it, he grabs Tyson's hips, too-tightly (it's got to hurt, but just the way Tyson likes it), and thrusts in. Tyson feels amazing, his hips jerking as Nick fucks him. It's fantastic. Nick glances up at the tie around Tyson's wrists, biting into the skin and holding Tyson in place for Nick, and Nick bites his lip as he comes.

Tyson shakes his head, completely gone, and moans, "no, no, wanna hear, Nicky, wanna _hear_." Nick's never been able to say no to Tyson, so he lets go, moaning Tyson's name as he finishes inside him. It's only been a couple of months since they stopped using condoms together, and it's still new and exciting enough that Nick takes a second to slide out and watch for a long moment as his come trickles down onto the sheets.

But Tyson starts to writhe again, and Nick's not a monster. He takes hold of Tyson's cock, firm, almost too hard, the way Tyson likes it, the way Nick knows Tyson likes it, and jerks once, twice, hard. Tyson cries out as he comes, and Nick kisses him to muffle the sound, Tyson's come dripping over his fingers. He wipes them unceremoniously over the bed cover, secure in the knowledge that they'll be taking this thing off before they go to sleep.

Reaching up with hands that shake, he somehow manages to untie the knot keeping the tie in place, sighing as Tyson immediately curls his arms around him.

"Thank you, baby." Tyson whispers into the skin of his shoulder, and Nick grins to himself. It's always worth this.

Later, he's glad that he couldn't see the skin of Tyson's wrists, because they're red and puffy where Tyson jerked repeatedly against the tie, trying to free himself and touch Nick as he fucked him. They're sensitive – not so sensitive that Tyson can't play, but raw and painful to the touch, and Nick can tell that Tyson loves it. Nick isn't so sure that he does, isn't so sure that he could ever do this again, let it go this far, and Tyson knows it. He'll never ask again. But as the red, puffy skin fades into deep blue bruises, Nick knows Tyson thinks it was worth it.

In a secret part of his mind, Nick agrees.

But as he kisses Tyson, gentle-soft, curled up in Nick's bunk, he figures he loves every part of this relationship, no matter how it goes or where it leads them. It's got him and Tyson in it, and that's always been enough for Nick.

**


End file.
